


An Officer and A Gentleman

by emmykay



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Highway robbery, M/M, Regency Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-08-31 09:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8573440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmykay/pseuds/emmykay
Summary: "Izumi!" Hamada exclaimed, throat so thickened with emotion he could barely speak.  "You - I could barely recognize you." With a glance, Izumi encompassed the shine on Hamada's boots, the gold of his buttons, and the complications of his braid and, just as quickly, dismissed them."What a surprise that you recognized me at all," Izumi replied coldly.    Regency romance between Izumi and Hamada.Content warnings will appear for individual chapters and added to the tags as the story goes on.





	1. The Commission

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plasticcrack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plasticcrack/gifts).



> For bridges, and the rest of the Oof twitter fam.
> 
> Alternative Reality- Regency, Regency Romance, PTSD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been previously posted elsewhere, while the next chapter is the newest.

Hamada entered Miss Momoe's office, wondering what the headmistress might have wanted to speak to him so urgently that he was pulled from class.

"Hamada Yoshiro?" A wiry, dark-haired man stood in front of Miss Momoe's desk.

"Yes, sir," Hamada replied, wondering why the man seemed so familiar.

"I'm Squire Izumi. Kosuke's father."

The likeness seemed to strike Hamada right between the eyes. Of course. The same sardonic expression, the same body frame. The only difference was the hardness in the dark eyes. Hamada had heard much about Squire Izumi from his son. Carefully, he said, "Hello, sir."

"You may be wondering why I wanted to speak to you." Squire Izumi leaned up against the desk. "A settled landowner like myself coming down to Nishiura to speak to a student who isn't even the child of an acquaintance."

"Sir?" Hamada knew that Izumi's family was one of the longest established in his area, with connections throughout the upper gentry and into the nobility. 

"Your father is a tailor. A skilled trade, but one that doesn't pay very well. You're a scholarship student, are you not?"

"I am, sir."

"And an eldest son?"

"Yes, sir."

"Popular, too."

Hamada didn't quite know what to say to that.

"Most laudable that a person such as yourself is seeking to improve through education. As if by acquiring knowledge that you could emulate your betters, much like the ass wearing the lion's skin."

His financial status was something that while not a secret, but not openly discussed at Nishiura. It was enough that Miss Momoe had him do chores around the building, unlike most of the other students who attended the school. He realized this had led him to believe that it could never happen here. It appeared he would be corrected.

Squire Izumi coughed. "Kosuke's letters home have been very interesting this past year. They mention you quite a bit. I believe he considers you a friend."

"I hope so, sir." Hamada smiled.

"How good a friend?"

Hamada froze. Surely Squire Izumi did not know. Could not know about Hamada's feelings for Izumi. What had Izumi told his father? "Nishiura promotes friendship amongst all its students, sir."

The squire's face creased into a humorless smile. "That is not what I mean, as you are well aware." He shifted, tapping on his front fold of his boot for a moment. He looked at Hamada keenly. "However, if it makes things easier, I propose, in the name of this friendship, to support you in a career."

"Sir?"

"The military, Hamada."

"I don't understand."

"I will buy you a commission. Get you started. After you finish out so many years, should you survive, you can take it as your retirement."

"Sir, I can't leave my family - my little brother - my mother is infirm - "

"Hamada, you are soon to be a man of the world. What say you that I also provide a gentleman's education for your brother? And he won't have to toil as you did for your learning?"

"Sir, I could not accept, surely you could speak to my father about this offer - '

"No, Hamada. Tell you what. How about I sweeten the deal. I will also send money enough for treatment for your mother."

Hamada's eyes widened. 

"You understand me now, I think. You see that this is something I could only propose to you." 

Hamada only realized then what the squire had been proposing and he came to a sudden awareness. This opportunity, of securing a future not only for himself, but also for his younger brother and mother, would likely never come again. The only cost might be his life. He opened and shut his mouth in thought. Hamada never thought of himself as a very swift thinker, but he liked to imagine his thought processes were clear and once he set himself on a path, he did not deviate.

Squire Izumi looked at Hamada keenly. "If I do this and you accept, then we are to never speak of this again. Do we have a bargain?"

After a moment, Hamada asked, "Is Izumi to know?"

"Absolutely not. If he is to even suspect, I will not only rescind any support I have ever given to you and yours, but I will make it a promise to blacken your father's name all across the county so that he might never do business again."

Seeing no choice, feeling as though the Squire might do as he threatened regardless of the answer received, Hamada sighed. "I accept your offer, sir."

"Your word on it."

They shook hands.

* * *

"Yo-yoshiro?" 

Hamada couldn't believe he had heard the words at first. His prone body stilled on the heavily overgrown grass of the shallow hillside on the far side of the school grounds, listening. There shouldn't be anyone outside, not at this hour of the night, even if the night were warm and the moon and stars lighting the countryside nearly bright as day. 

"Yoshiro?" The voice grew marginally louder, though still uncertain.

His name was being called from above him, to the left side. Sound carried in the night. Hamada lifted his head slowly, tracking the progression steps in the swishing of the long grass, unusually loud in the still night, even with the gentle country sounds of the frogs and insects in the background.

"Yoshiir--" the sound was cut off as Hamada leaped from just below and then onto the walking figure, one hand out to cover their mouth and stop the voice, causing them both to tumble to the ground, marginally cushioned against the black earth by the grass. 

Hamada found himself staring into Izumi's big, dark eyes, his own widened through the excitement of bringing down someone who would burst in on his solitude. He could not remember when Izumi had brought himself to call him his first name, but something within Hamada, some form of self-preservation, or propriety, perhaps, had not allowed the familiarity to be reciprocated. 

"Sh!" he hissed, hand pressed against Izumi's face, those large trusting eyes staring up at him. "If you're out here, you'll get into a deal of trouble!" 

Izumi nodded, dirt and grass ground into his formerly clean white shirt.

"Good. If I take my hand off, you won't say naught?" 

Izumi shook his head, slightly. 

They stared at each other, breathing hard. Hamada came to the abrupt awareness of their heightened breathing, their eyes as they looked at each other, of the position of his body laying across and on top of Izumi's smaller form. _Heavens._ He quickly rolled off onto his back. He had no time to congratulate himself on the triumph of his morality, meager as it was.

"You say I should say naught but you're out here your own self!" Izumi burst out, sitting up.

Hamada sighed. He had hoped to miss this. "What of it, then?"

"You'll be in trouble, as much, if not more, than I!"

"Nay." 

Izumi's curious countenance impinged on Hamada's view of the night sky as the younger boy leaned over him. "Whyever not?"

"I'll be leaving."

Reversing himself, Izumi protested, "Miss Momoe wouldn't have you leave over a curfew, Yoshiro! Surely not."

Hamada admitted it to himself. He would miss this little tit for tat, this bickering - he would miss Izumi - more than he could express. However, he had a made an agreement. Hamada sat up, nudging Izumi aside. "Izumi, I - I am leaving. I'll joining up."

Izumi's eyebrows bunched together. "You never said anything about that before? You're just going to go to a recruiter? After school?"

There was no point in beating about the bush. Not with Izumi, who would hound him until he broke. Hamada turned to Izumi, admitting, "I've been given a commission."

Izumi asked, "How?"

"A distant connexion." How distant and for what reason, Izumi could never know. Hamada had agreed, and he meant to keep that agreement, for the sake of his mother and younger brother. "I need to leave on the morrow. I'm already packed."

"But." Confusion settled on Izumi's open face. "Yoshiro. I thought we - I - you weren't leaving until graduation next year."

"I can't wait."

Izumi looked shocked.

Quickly, Hamada said, "I heard that troops will be assembling for the peninsula shortly. If I'm to find a suitable place, I should have been gone a week ago." 

"But." Izumi blinked. "Are you really going?"

Wry, Hamada said, "Perhaps twas for the best that I have so little to pack."

Hamada waited. Nothing came. Only Izumi turning down his face, with a barely audible noise.

Hamada leaned forward, touching Izumi's left shoulder with his right shoulder. Softly, he said, "No set down about the state of my clothes? Nothing about how shocking it is for the son of tailor to have as few changes as I have? Izumi, what has happened to your famously sharp tongue? You do yourself no credit with this kind of return."

"I can't believe you're leaving."

"Izumi." 

"You're really leaving." A frown, a looking away.

"Iz -" Hamada let himself say the other's name, if only to get their attention. Just this once. "Kosuke. Kosuke."

Those large dark eyes looked up at him, a betraying gleam of wet along the bottom lid.

"Do you understand? I need to go. What need do I have for more education when I have this chance, this one chance, to go out and make a name for myself? Create a future? Something my family can be proud of."

"I understand, but - Yoshiro. If you go, you might not have a future."

Hamada shrugged. "I might not have one anyway." 

"I do not find that funny," Izumi said. "You have shown me so much kindness since I came here. Twas because of your actions that I found friends, that I learned cricket, learned about hard work, how to dress myself, and so much more."

"Cricket and friendship mean nothing in society."

"They mean something to me!" Izumi shouted.

Not thinking, Hamada grasped both of Izumi's shoulders. "What chance would I have in gentle society, education or no? I would not be one for the pulpit. Would I marry into wealth or a lineage? That would be less likely than - than - my capturing the capital of the peninsula single-handedly. Me? The son of a tailor. That would be a laugh."

Dark eyes kindled. "I am not laughing. I could never laugh at you. I- I care for you, Yoshiro." 

Hamada's voice caught in a painful cough. Dear heavens. Why this. Why now? This was too cruel. A farce. He tried to laugh. 

"Don't." Izumi scowled, the expression bringing out the worst of his acne. He hunched, his overly long hair sticking out at all angles. 

"I'm not laughing at you, Kosuke."

"Is it - is it because I'm not beautiful? Like Abe? Or easy with movement, like Tajima?"

"No." 

"Then what?"

Hamada's chest hurt, wrenched by the feelings he already had, crushed by the new, if not unsuspected, knowledge given to him. "Laugh at me. Please laugh at me."

"Why?"

At Izumi's petulant mouth, Hamada said, "Izumi. You were born to privilege. Born to a lineage of greatness. To feel something for me besides ridicule - that is laughable."

"It isn't. I think you - you care for me, too. Tell me that you don't love me and I will go."

Hamada closed his eyes. Opening them, he found Izumi very close, trying to read him as if he were a book. 

"Tell me." It was his earnestness, hidden under a brittle veneer of pride and politeness, that Hamada had noticed first on Izumi's initial entry to school. This is what struck Hamada now. And, as it is said, like will draw like. 

"Tell me."

"I - I can't." Hamada said sharply. He wanted to, oh, he wanted to. But he could not.

"Please."

Ah. Hamada tried once again. "You never say please."

"I don't. But for you, I would. Please, Yoshiro."

He could not resist Izumi, not when he asked. And surely, he could admit this one thing before he left. Let them have this moment. "The person I find most pleasing has admitted their love, for me, and is now asking why I cannot speak." Izumi drew even closer, if that were even possible. "Do you mean to sit in my very pocket?" yelped Hamada.

"Yes."

"You need to leave for your room. Now. Tomorrow I will go and that will be that. And we will part. Immediately."

"No," Izumi said. "If you mean to leave tomorrow, that means you are no longer my senior and I no longer have to listen to what you say." Imperiously, "I will stay until we both must go."

A disgusted sound escaped Hamada. "That is so like you. Stubborn as the day is long."

"But you will let me stay." Idly, Izumi noted, "You have not yet stated that you do not care for me."

Hamada released a long breath. "I am not quick-witted enough to persuade you to leave. Am I?"

"No." Pleased, Izumi pressed his face against Hamada's linen shirt. "I know what your answer is."

"Kosuke." Hamada said, his tone a warning.

"Yoshiro." Izumi looked upward then, lips a little pursed. The position of a wanton with the instincts of a born seducer, for all that Hamada knew the truth of Izumi's total innocence.

Hamada could scarce breathe for the warring emotions within him. He had never truly believed any relationship between them beyond that of friendship was possible, perhaps not even that outside of school. He had tried to tell himself that, to no avail. It would not do, in any real society. "No."

"Yoshiro. Please."

There was the truth of it. Hamada knew he always would do what Izumi wanted. Yet, what Izumi was offering. Maybe. Just maybe. This one thing he could allow himself, themselves. Certainly, they would never see each other again. 


	2. Reunion

The day's unseasonal humidity hung late in the spring air, made moreso by the mass of people, carriages, and horses in front of the imposing entry of the Hanai townhouse. Discussions passed through the group, all picked up by a soldier in an officer's uniform of the 15th Regiment of the King's Light Dragoons.

"That is the trouble with travel today," someone said. "We have the trouble of facing these, these brigands who would lief as shoot us as they would take our money."

"Perhaps," someone else replied, "it is a sign, that we should all safely stay within the city within our walled gardens and our escorted walks."

"We should be sending those returning from the war into the countryside to protect our roads from those villainous highwaymen."

Someone noticed the soldier, and asked, "Captain, what is your opinion?"

"I - " The soldier, a young man with a short length of sun-bleached hair visible from underneath his tarleton helmet, blinked. "I have only recently returned from the peninsula, and I have not been apprised of the situation in countryside." He was saved from further discussion when the conversants were allowed into the receiving room and unburdened of what outer accoutrement they wished to be unburdened of, and thence onward up the stairs to the grand ballroom, where they were announced by the butler and greeted by their host.

"Captain Hamada," greeted the former captain of Nishiura Academy's cricket team.

"Mister Hanai," Hamada replied, smiling as they shook hands. "So good to see you again."

"There were reports that we were afraid we wouldn't, y'know," Hanai said. "Those actions on the peninsula over these past eight years! And you single-handedly capturing the capital!"

"Those reports were greatly exaggerated," Hamada demurred.

"Captain!" said a lovely, middle-aged woman as she approached, her flattering ruby-colored silk gown rustling with her movements.

"Lady Hanai," said Hamada, with a bow.

"We are delighted you were able to come to this little soiree." The last of these words were said with a deliberate understatement, as she fluttered her fan out toward the crowded center of the elaborately decorated ballroom.

"Little?" Hamada asked, smiling.

Quietly, Hanai added, "It's m' sisters' coming out ball, you know how these things need be a crush otherwise mothers would think them complete failures."

"It is a great pleasure to see you again, Lady Hanai. And I see," Hamada said, casting his eyes over the crowded room, "The affair is a complete, resounding success."

"Please," Hanai said, an edge of desperation in his voice, "Mingle. Look eligible. And dance with m'sisters. Make them look eligible. You need to help me." 

"How?" Hamada asked. "I'm not some rich young lordling with thousands of pounds a year, I'm just an forcibly retired soldier."

"It's the uniform," said Lady Hanai.

"I don't quite understand it," Hamada said, shaking his head.

"What is there to understand? The uniform hides a multitude of sins. It's the appearance that matters. A wounded, retired soldier is a poor replacement for someone genuinely eligible," said a sharp voice at Hanai's side. 

Startled, Hamada was alerted to the presence of a man with dark, perfectly coifed hair, cynical eyes, dressed in an exquisitely tailored black jacket - in sum, a veritable dandy. The image was marred only by the faint acne scars on his cheeks, which seemed to stand out in the heat of his faint flush. 

"Izumi!" Hamada exclaimed. In throat so thickened with emotion he could barely say the words, "You - I could barely recognize you."

With a glance, Izumi encompassed the shine on Hamada's knee-high boots, the silver of his buttons and front lacings, the overly long hair pulled together into a ponytail, and just as quickly, dismissed them.

"What a surprise that you recognized me at all," Izumi replied coldly. 

"You have - " Hamada continued, blundering, aware of his blunder, and yet unable to keep his wonder to himself. "You have become so - "

"So - what?" Izumi asked, his voice flat, unrewarding.

"Uh - " Hamada found himself, usually capable in many social situations, unable to reply. He could only gaze with a kind of dumbfounded pleasure.

Izumi looked him over. There was a decided sense of dissatisfaction in Izumi's expression.

"Hamada!" was accompanied with a light-hearted laugh. It was with a sense of relief that Hamada heard others entered into the conversation.

"Sakaeguchi!"

"And in your uniform! So dashing!"

"You think so?" Hamada allowed himself a smile.

Izumi greeted their fellow former student. "Sakaeguchi."

"Izumi! Good seeing you - I haven't seen you in a while. So funny seeing you two together."

"What do you mean?" Izumi asked.

"Oh, just," Sakaeguchi laughed. "I'm just thinking, isn't it funny that all of us are here now. You, me, us, Abe - "

"Very funny," Abe said, unsmiling.

"We've been seeing all of your exploits in the papers," Sakaeguchi said. "Very brave."

"Have you?" Hamada asked, surprised.

"Ah, yes, it has been indicated in all the papers and in many reports, how the valiant Captain Hamada, the son of a tailor, captured the capital of the peninsula. Single-handedly," Izumi said.

"Ah." Hamada lifted a hand to the back of his neck, embarrassed. "I had a small troop of soldiers with me, and the work done by previous forces - "

"And there were reports of a romance with a local princess," Sakaeguchi said. 

"A princess?" Hamada blinked, trying to recall anything that might have been considered a romance. "I did have an acquaintance with a countess."

"Perhaps that was it," Sakaeguchi said, nodding.

"Or perhaps it was the few women clan heads I had meetings with," Hamada considered.

"Oh, yes?" Izumi asked, dangerously.

"They really were just acquaintances!" Hamada said, not exactly knowing why he was protesting, or why the correction seemed so important at this juncture. "It was about gathering information for the campaign!"

Abe nodded. "It is good to obtain the friendship of the locals to obtain intelligence."

"A romance with a princess what was the newspapers have reported," Izumi stated, but there was nothing in the remote neighborhood of understanding or forgiveness in his tone. 

"I cannot speak for what has been reported," Hamada said, uncertain was to why this exact moment felt like he was defending a lost cause.

"Then don't," Izumi said, his dark eyes flashing.

Hamada opened his mouth, and then shut it, feeling his own blood het up and trying to achieve prudence in the face of all that heat. He had been pleased to see Izumi, and the sharp tingle of of Izumi's retorts were nothing less than he probably deserved. He did find some enjoyment in Izumi's jabs, wanting to return them, wanting the push and pull of their old relationship.

Sakaeguchi coughed, and then gave a little laugh. "How has your family been, Izumi? Are your parents in town?"

Izumi faced Sakaeguchi, away from Hamada. It seemed Izumi wasn't capable of rudeness toward Sakaeguchi, feeling the pull of civil discourse. "As far as I know, they're well. My father and brother are in town for business, but my mother wanted to finish packing up before she came back into town."

"I heard your brother has a new position," Abe said.

"Yes. With the War Office. Some under secretary of an under secretary." 

"Fellows!" Hanai said, sweeping through the ballroom, "If you would please mingle with the rest of the guests, that would be a great favor."

"Certainly," Hamada said. He took to the crowd. In the ensuing hours, Hamada applied himself to speaking, very gently, to the season's debutantes, and less gently, flirted with their elder sisters and brothers. He had taken the arm of a pink-cheeked young wife, who was sadly without her husband, and gallantly provided her company during the small meal provided. He released her, without regret, to another partner.

It was with genuine pleasure he found himself among Suyama, Mizutani and Oki. As he had approached, Izumi had left the little group to walk about the room, where many of the other guests gave him a wide berth.

"What is happening there?" Hamada asked.

Oki coughed. "Nothing. Nothing of import."

"How Izumi is in society, you mean?" Mizutani replied. 

"Whyever would they avoid him?" Hamada asked. "Isn't he desirable on the marriage market?"

"If you mean money, yes, as his great uncle died leaving him a great fortune," Suyama said, frank.

"But he's got a cutting wit, and he won't hesitate to use it," Oki said. "He's been the focus of a lot of gossip in the past handful of seasons."

"Ah, no," Hamada said. "I don't believe it." Oki's eyebrows rose at Hamada's vehemence. Hamada frowned, wondering if his interactions with Izumi would have precipitated unwanted gossip. "He's a good sort, really." He paused. Perhaps he had been gone a long time, but he didn't think anyone could have changed that much. Not Izumi.

"You yourself felt it, didn't you?" Oki asked.

"He's been like that to me ever since we met." Hamada shrugged. "Ah, that doesn't matter."

"It does to other people," Mizutani replied.

"I heard of someone crying off Mihashi's house party because they were afraid he would be there."

"Mihashi's throwing his own parties now?" Hamada asked, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. He was pummelled with responses.

"Have you not heard of his party?" Oki asked.

"It's one of the largest events left in the calendar!" Mizutani said.

"Yes, or rather, his wife is," Suyama said.

"Mihashi's married?" Hamada shook his head. He _had_ missed a great deal while he'd been gone.

"Of course you must be invited. He's hoping to get all of the Nishiuras together again. Perhaps even to play a few innings of cricket," Suyama said.

A corner of Hamada's mouth crooked upward. "I don't know if I shall be any help to him in that direction. I don't play as I used to."

"Oh!" Oki clapped his hand over his mouth. "I forgot about your arm!"

"It's of little import," Hamada said, airy. 

Suyama looked at him searchingly, as Mizutani murmured, "Someone needs to fill in the set." 

They looked toward the dance floor, where a noticeable gap had appeared amongst the dancers.

Looking to cut short any further discussions of his arm, Hamada stepped forward to complete the set of four, and found himself facing Izumi, who looked at him with a challenge.

A softly scandalized murmur began behind them. Without hesitation, Hamada offered to step down. "I only know country dances." He said, quieter, "People might talk."

Barely audible, Izumi said, "Coward."

Hamada's backward step stilled. 

In the background, as if Izumi's taunt had taken instrumental form, the musicians began the chords of an older highland tune.

Hamada looked at the man in front of him, seeing the hard sparkle in the dark eyes, the defiant lift of the chin, the set of those newly broad shoulders and he couldn't help but feel a rush in his limbs that echoed the feelings he had had years ago. 

"I will if you will." 

Izumi tilted his head toward Hamada, never taking his eyes off of him.

Leaving this field of battle would be unthinkable. Hamada stayed.

They danced, Hamada and Izumi coming together with an initial bow, and then a return back to their place in line. Then another foray to touch hands, a turn, and a retreat. 

"You are looking well," Hamada said on the next forward phrase of the dance.

"How so?" Izumi asked.

"Taller and fashionable," Hamada managed, unable to keep the happy awe out of his voice. Izumi was taller than Hamada remembered, coming up to perhaps a half a head shorter, instead of the full head difference than they were in school. Clothing and fashion aside, Izumi had also filled out, through the shoulders and chest, the tight fabric of his pantaloons hiding nothing of the tightly muscled thighs and calves. 

"It's a wonder you could tell anything about current fashions, having been out of the country so long."

"It's true," Hamada agreed. Compared to Izumi's light steps, Hamada felt like nothing so much as an ass in a pottery shop. Still, he persevered.

"As for you, you are still the same," Izumi said, executing a skip-change of step that would have been the exemplar of any dancing master.

"I hope that's good," Hamada said. "I have been gone these past ten years - "

"It is obvious."

"I beg your pardon," Hamada asked.

"For someone newly let from service, your uniform seems as though has been through the war before the last."

Hamada couldn't help but suck in an aggravated breath. He knew his uniform was not consistent with the latest round of dress adoptions the brigade required. Unlike others with deeper pockets, or those with parents who were amenable to paying for the latest design change in the uniform as those changes were proposed, Hamada paid for incremental changes as he could. He had to wait for the next phrase before he could speak again. "For someone who looks like a gentleman, your manners could certainly need some improvement."

Izumi's eyes narrowed, and Hamada could see the light in them snap. "Then perhaps we are well matched, in that neither of us appears to be what we are."

Hamada had to step away to turn to the dancer on his right, and then he returned, irritation steaming from his ears. "I've known you almost since the minute you were breeched, and if you think that saying those words makes you mysterious, you are sorely mistaken."

Watching while Izumi's mouth dropped with shock, Hamada couldn't have the satisfaction when he heard the protest. "No, you have not!"

"Then, since short pants."

Izumi's face tightened in irritation. "Maybe." They performed a quickstep in perfect harmony. "Many things have happened since you've been gone."

"I'll agree to that," Hamada said. The dance ended, the musicians performing the final notes with a flourish. Hamada bowed toward Izumi, feeling as though both of them were out of breath and off balance in multiple ways. 

The evening wore on, through a few more dances and conversations. Still unused to the late hours town events could take, Hamada was wondering how much longer he should stay before he could make his excuses when a gunshot, followed by a great shout was heard from up the stairs.

He hurried toward the sound, concerned. He joined the crowd in front of the library, saw Abe and Sakaeguchi in deshabille on the floor, the gun on the floor beside them. It was there were he caught sight of Izumi, and Izumi's frowning face. It appeared his concerns about Izumi would be unfounded. After this, their actions would no longer be the source of any concern.

* * *

Hamada sat on his bed, staring at the walls through the dim moonlight that came in through the small windows in the small room he had taken in this nondescript boarding house frequented by down-on their luck soldiers such as himself. 

Tonight would be a night that he wouldn't sleep. He knew it well enough that he hadn't bothered to do much more than take off his cloak and settled himself upon his mattress with a bottle of gin in his hand. He didn't take more than a sip or two - it was more to have something to do with his hands than anything that he held the bottle. 

He could blame it on fear of bad dreams, which were so often the case that his landlady didn't bother him much in the small hours. Mrs. Tanaka was a soldier's widow from a previous war, and had known enough about the afflictions of the soldiers that she took in that, as long as there was no harm and minimal noise, she largely left them alone to deal with their demons in peace.

Hamada had, he thought, been a good soldier. As good as he could have been, as he rose in rank from ensign to captain, moved from one regiment to another. His last promotion was, if he could be honest, the efforts of the major general who had seen him on the campaign, and had followed him through the ultimately hollow capture of the peninsular capital.

Even in the short time that Hamada had been home, he had learned there was not much he could say to the people here. There was nothing he could say to help them understand what he, what his men had gone through. 

While he was surprised at some of the things people said to him about the war, about his service, most of it seemed complementary, if a bit ignorant. Which was perhaps what distance from his country had done. 

Still, he was happy to be home, if unhappy about the reason why he was sent back. The stray shot had nicked his arm, tearing through skin and muscle and bouncing off bone. Or so the field surgeon had said, barely bothering to wait long enough for the whiskey to act before digging the musket ball out of the wound. His arm would improve, but it was unlikely he would ever be able to hold a musketoon again, and certainly never be able to use his arm as he had before. 

Helping Hanai had been easy, after having gone round to make his first calls earlier that week. Appearing at the ball cost him so little. Hanai had waved off any mention of Hamada needing a civilian wardrobe before making this, his first social appearance since returning.

It had seemed easy, until he saw that Izumi would also be there. 

Hamada perhaps shouldn't have been so surprised, but the reaction of nearly everyone he had encountered since returning had been quite positive. It had been so long since he had been back to this country, and not a day had gone by that he hadn't wondered what had happened to the boy that had given him the most precious memory of his pre-military life. And that Izumi, who seemed infinitely more sophisticated, more worldly, seemed to hate him, seemed nothing like the boy Hamada had left behind - well, Hamada did not know what to do or how to react to him.

Whatever else Hamada had done in this life, he could not regret his decision to leave Nishiura Academy. The cost was something Hamada could never count up accurately. His mother, while never again would she be as hale as she had been in her youth, was as well as she could be, and situated comfortably. His younger brother was beginning a promising career as a solicitor after having trained as a clerk in a well-regarded legal office. 

That Izumi might be hurt, or had hardened his heart against him, Hamada could not allow himself to consider against the weight of his family's needs, against the enmity of someone as well-regarded as Squire Izumi. Hamada had hoped that Izumi would forget him, move on in life, and be the better for not knowing the reason why Hamada had left. It had helped, at the beginning, to think that Hamada might never need to return and face what had happened.

But Hamada could not bring himself to pretend all was well, which is perhaps what he should be doing now. With a deep, internal sigh, he got up, slipped into his clothing, and left his room. He could not bear to be within these walls any longer.

Hamada liked walking, and found it difficult to feel he had gotten sufficient exercise while in the city. While he found parts of the city unpleasant and avoided certain quarters, Hamada never felt terribly unsafe, feeling like he was capable of handling any pickpockets or ruffian that might cross his path. He and the more nefarious passersby tended to leave each other alone. 

Barring that caution, he had nothing in his pockets to pick. 

As he rounded a corner several streets away, Hamada spied a man lingering about the front door of an infamous gambling hell. There was something peculiar about the man. He was rather elegantly dressed to belong to this shabby street, although it wasn't unusual for gentry to come slumming in this part of town and gambling dens attracted all sorts of elements.

Hamada took another look, unable to shake the feeling of this being 'not quite right.' Perhaps it was because the man seemed hunched over and guilty, which, again, wasn't unusual, something about the way _this_ man did it that raised Hamada's sense of alarm. 

Yet, somehow, Hamada could not help himself. Perhaps it was some strange feeling of familiarity. "Izumi?"

The blind way Izumi looked up, and then away, confirmed Hamada's suspicions. Even after all this time, he would probably never be able to help himself, not when it was about this man. He walked right up to Izumi's side. "No one of your standing should be here."

"What about someone of yours?" Izumi asked, snide.

"I live around the corner. The payout after a campaign is not high."

"That is so sad." 

"It is most curious, Izumi. Your words appear sympathetic, but your face does not." 

"I am not here to give you any sympathy."

"I wouldn't think so. Tell me, then, why are you here?"

"I - " Izumi's eyes darted to a point past Hamada's shoulder and then Izumi walked away.

Hamada got into step alongside, easily pacing himself to match Izumi's steps.

"I did not ask you to join me," Izumi said, nettled.

"I believe I did ask why you were here, and you did not answer the question."

"Where do you live?"

Hamada's eyebrows drew together. "A few blocks down. Why?"

Izumi's eyes darted, again, to a point just past Hamada's arm. "Let's go."

Hamada peeked, catching only a glimpse of grey wool coat, much like any other in almost any other part of the city this time of year. "Izumi - I can't go along - "

"Please."

"You will tell me what this is about."

"Yes. _Yes._ "

And despite his misgivings, Hamada allowed his good sense to be overtaken by his intense curiosity. They halted at the worn doorstep of his rented rooms. "I take lodging at this house, along with a few of my compatriots from the peninsula."

"Can I go in?"

"There is no need for this." Hamada frowned. His own rooms were bare, with little to decorate them. He had brought little back from his time in the army, and had no servants beyond the middle-aged landlady and her maid of all works to help him maintain his lifestyle, if such it could be called. The house, while clean and well-maintained, was solidly working class housing, with only its dry roof and four walls to recommend it. He was not ashamed of it, but he was reluctant to let Izumi know exactly how he lived. "Whyever - "

In a startling move, Izumi reached up, grasped the back of Hamada's head and pulled him downward. "Kiss me - " Izumi demanded. Then their mouths met, a rushed movement, and Izumi stepped closer into Hamada's body, one arm quickly slipping under Hamada's own plain woolen cloak.

A flood of sensation rushed through Hamada's head; the press of Izumi's body against his, the tightness of Izumi's arms, Izumi's hand cupped on his cheek, Izumi's lips, chill in the early morning, warmed swiftly. Hamada breathed through his nose, unable to comprehend what had just happened. His body, however, understood very well indeed, an electrical current thrummed through his veins and nerves, caused his muscles to tighten under his skin. Absently, he noted that the last time this had happened, Izumi had been shorter, his body more pliant. But the smell of Izumi's hair, the taste of Izumi's mouth, they were the same.

It could have been moments, or long, long minutes, but Izumi finally broke away, his eyes momentarily soft. "I'm so sorry, Yoshiro."

Hamada blinked, shivering a little from the after effect. "Why - "

Izumi looked again behind Hamada. "Can I go in now?"

He pulled open the door, tugged Izumi up the narrow flight of stairs, down a short hallway and through a door with an over-sized thumb latch. He closed the door behind them and turned. "Now, Izumi - "

Izumi had lit a candle from the banked flames on the hearth, and was obviously looking at the single bed, simply dressed in a brown blanket and white sheets, the lone chair and desk in the corner with a half-empty bottle of gin on it, the single table near the door that held a plain tin washbasin and pitcher. "You live here?"

Hamada wanted to let that pass, certainly he did. But he somehow found himself saying, "Why should I not?"

"Because war heroes deserve more than this."

Hamada found himself disarmed. How like Izumi to do this to him. First, the sharpness, then the kiss, and now this. When they were students together, he could never tell if he was upright or upside down in Izumi's presence. It seemed nothing had changed, even ten years onward.

"What is happening, Izumi?"

Izumi seemed to very intrigued with the handful of books on Hamada's desk. Hamada reached out and pulled a volume out of Izumi's hands. Izumi abruptly began to speak. "Interesting neighborhood you've settled in, Hamada."

"It's where many retired soldiers and soldiers widows with good reputations can afford to live. If you want to see something interesting, you should go a few streets over to the docks, where the sailors visit the brothels. I hear it gets very lively when the ships come into port."

"Indeed?" Izumi almost smiled. "You always did have interesting stories, Hamada."

"You want interesting stories? Now? Izumi, the time for interesting stories was last night - "

"Yes, I suppose that time has passed."

Standing near Izumi, Hamada asked, "Why were you in front of that particular gaming hall? There are certainly others that would better cater to you. Who was that man?"

"What man?"

"I'm not clever, Izumi. But you can't tell me that all of this - this hiding and running, and even while I wish it were not so - that kiss - is not because of that man. I might have been gone these ten years, and things might have changed, but I am not, as yet, blind."

Izumi sighed and turned to face Hamada. "He was no one."

"Why was he following you?"

"Because - because - " Izumi paled, and then he shook his head. "I should not have spoken to you. I will take my leave."

"Izumi - "

"He's long since left. And I hope he will ignore our meeting." Izumi stepped away. He looked at Hamada full-on, and Hamada felt the power of those dark eyes all the way down to his knees. "Thank you, Hamada. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have." 

"Izumi - "

Then, quietly, Izumi left the room.

* * *

Hamada rushed down to catch up with Izumi, but to no avail. After rushing through the streets in the faint light of the false dawn, but not know what direction Izumi had taken, Hamada was left with nothing but a grinding frustration. Whatever was Izumi's reason? 

What was that look Izumi had borne as he had left? And the softness of Izumi's eyes, his mouth, his breath upon Hamada's skin. What was that about?

Hamada returned to his room and with a sigh, Hamada collapsed back onto his bed. After a few moments of thinking, he supposed he should get out of his coat. He took it off and was about to hang it when he felt an odd lump in the interior pocket. He dug into his inner pocket and pulled out a pouch, something he had never seen before. He pulled open the drawstring and tipped it. Out onto his palm fell a diamond necklace on a gold chain, a pair of ruby earbobs, a gold pocket watch with a fanciful engraved monogram, and a jet and diamond brooch. 

He had never seen any of this before. How had these gotten into his coat?

He remembered a touch at his waist - Izumi had reached into his coat during their kiss. Had Izumi done this? And more importantly, why? And if this was what Izumi wanted to turn into the gambling hall, then nothing made sense. Izumi's father had plenty of money, and Izumi, based upon what Suyama had said, did also.

Bells began to toll. Hamada jerked up, and listened. Early morning. There was no more time to wonder. He had an appointment to keep.

* * *

Hamada walked by the formal barracks building, across the enormous courtyard of the parade grounds and into the imposing white stone front of the long, multi-storied building in front of him. He wandered through the building, directed through to the offices until he came to one with a name he recognized.

He approached the desk, a smile spreading across his face at the sight of the light-haired, glasses-wearing soldier behind the desk. "Riki! Kajiyama Riki!" 

"Captain Hamada!" he said, standing and saluting.

"What're you doing here, going from riding a horse to a desk?" Hamada asked, grasping at Riki's hands, trying not to laugh in relief.

"Since they're cutting positions, now that they think the war is over," Riki replied.

"Where is Umehara Keisuke? Isn't he always by your side?"

"Kei is manning a desk on the other side of the building. And you, Captain, weren't you just released? You'd think they'd have had better luck with their officers than letting you go like that."

"Well, Riki, things don't always go as planned."

"Lieutenant Kajiyama?" A voice, trained to a social drawl yet unable to hide the iron command that ran through it, broke into the conversation. Hamada looked closely at the man, in a dark suit, his dark hair and eyes appeared very familiar. 

"Sir!" Riki stood up abruptly, saluting.

"And you are?" The man asked.

"Captain Hamada, sir." 

"I've been waiting for you. Izumi Koichi," the man introduced himself. "I'm sorry to be calling you back, after we just released you," he said, rather perfunctorily.

Hamada stretched out his hand to shake, but found it ignored. Instead, he stared at the ramrod straight back of Izumi Koichi, who was walking away and into a small office.

Once inside the space, still new-looking by virtue of the bare walls and lack of anything but a set of chairs and a desk, Koichi sat. Following his example, Hamada did so as well. "I understand you are acquainted with my younger brother, Kosuke."

"Yes, we went to school together, at least until I joined up," Hamada replied.

"Good. Then this will make it easier." Koichi said, "You have heard about the highwayman that approached in the area of I - ?"

"Only a little bit," Hamada replied. "I have only been back in town this past week."

"Your Major General has brought it to our attention that you would be the man he would recommend to attend to this - this - " Koichi looked like he would spit, if he would do anything as lowly as spitting, "- blackguard."

Hamada blinked. "Oh?"

"Your regiment was known for scouting and engaging advanced enemy, and it seems that those very skills would be most useful in apprehending this," and again Koichi made that face, " _person._ "

"What information is there?" Hamada asked. 

He was handed a small packet of information. During his quick reading of the accounts in front of him, Koichi continued to speak of the failure of the other agencies to capture the miscreant in question.

"That is the worst part." 

Hamada scanned the last sheet, on which was listed a group of well-born, well-heeled individuals as he'd ever seen on paper. It was the listing next to those names that attracted his attention. For among the amounts of precious coin and bank notes were descriptions of jewelry. Jewelry that included a diamond necklace on a gold chain, a pair of ruby earbobs, a gold pocket watch with a fanciful engraved monogram, and a jet and diamond brooch. 

Suddenly, the small pouch in Hamada's cloak felt very, very heavy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I didn't finish this in time, but the ending is coming soon.
> 
> Scottish country dances: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scottish_country_dance


End file.
